provide himself with a reason for why no one likes him. There is evidence of violence at home. He speaks about his hatred of his father and refers to his mother as 'a vicious bitch.' He has a close bond with Michael Percy, a near neighbor and classmate, whom he regards as similarly disaffected...
...In conclusion, I have real concerns about Alan's dangerous sense of alienation, which may already have led to criminal behavior. I believe rapid intervention is required to prevent matters from becoming worse. There are problems at home and at school, but permanent exclusion is not a solution. He requires intensive 'special needs' teaching to improve his self-esteem, and he should be encouraged to form strong and positive bonds with adults- either inside the school environment or in the broader community. He needs to feel valued: Only then will he have the necessary motivation to correct his aggressive and antisocial attitudes...
*8*
I found Luke, my elder son, straddled across a chair in the kitchen. 'Your man's outside smoking a spliff,' he shouted into my ear over the cacophony of sound from the terrace. 'I told him not to make it too obvious in case Dad saw him, so he's lurking behind a hedge at the bottom of the terrace steps.' He handed me a can of lager, then stood up to steer me toward the French windows. 'He's a bit of a whinger,' he warned. 'Keeps saying we must be loaded to afford a place like this, then goes on and on about how he's never had any luck in his life.'
I nodded.
'So Where's Dad?'
'Upstairs,' I shouted back.
Luke smiled guiltily. 'He's not still angry about his Cloudy Bay, is he?'
'No, but he's going ballistic about the noise.'
'Okay.' He pushed his way through the crowd and turned the volume down to bearable proportions. When he came back he had a wiry, dark-haired man in tow, about age twenty-five, with a nervous frown on his face. 'Danny Slater,' he said, introducing us. 'He's one of the guys who's been giving me gen on Graham Road ... teaches art at a community center in Brixton. He's on Portland for the summer learning to carve stone at a workshop in Tout Quarry. I couldn't believe it when we end up in a house just a stone's throw away ... seemed like a good opportunity to get acquainted.'
Luke spoke for Danny's benefit rather than mine. It was hardly tactful, as he'd pointed out several times, to spend months making friends with a bloke, only for him to guess the first time you meet him that there was a hidden agenda behind the friendship and that the reason you're living less than ten miles from his holiday hideaway is because you want to get close to his parents. 'I'd be sodding mad if it happened to me,' he'd told me firmly, 'so we take a bit of trouble. Okay? I like him ... he's cool ... and his e-mails are funny.'
Did I feel guilty about making an ally of my son? Yes. Did I remember Dr. Elias's words of warning about Sam's sense of betrayal when he found out? Yes. Would it have stopped me using Luke?
Danny wasn't the most attractive young man I'd ever seen, but I put on my best smile and shook his hand warmly as Luke took his leave and wandered over to the barbecue. 'You won't remember me,' I said, 'but my husband and I used to live at number 5 Graham Road. You can't have been more than three or four at the time, but I knew your elder brother very well ... Alan ... I was his English teacher at King Alfred's.'
He shook his head. 'It won't have been my brother,' he answered. 'Alan's thirty-five. You're thinking of someone else.'
'No,' I assured him. 'It was certainly Alan. I taught him in '78 when he was fourteen. He was a bit of a handful,' I finished with a laugh, 'but I expect he's calmed down by now.' Danny examined me closely for a moment, before pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. 'You must have had an easy life then,' he said, more in criticism than compliment. 'My mum's not much over fifty but she looks a damn sight older than you do.'
I smiled. 'It depends whether you think teaching is easy.
He rose immediately to the bait and I listened with patience to five minutes of complaint about the intolerable necessity of an artist having to earn a regular income ... about the wear and tear on the nerves caused by the arrogant egotism of students who hadn't a creative bone in their bodies ... about how, if he'd been lucky enough to live in a country where culture was valued, he'd have been given a grant to make his own art instead of teaching brain-dead morons how to make theirs...
I nodded sympathetically when he drew breath. 'And I suppose your family isn't in a position to help you?'
'I'm not married.'
'I meant your parents. I remember your father quite well.' I thought of the photograph of Derek Slater that Wendy Stanhope had lent me. 'Dark-haired, rather good-looking. Very like you, as a matter of fact.'
He wasn't easily flattered. 'There's only my mother,' he said, 'and she's on invalidity benefit.' He offered me a cigarette and lit one for himself when I shook my head. 'Dad abandoned us years ago ... can't even remember what he looked like anymore.'
'I'm sorry.'
He shrugged. 'It was for the best,' he said unemotionally. 'He took his belt to all of us at one time or another. Alan worst of all. Dad used to beat him about the head when he tried to protect Mum, and Alan's still got the scars to prove it.'
'I did wonder,' I said, equally unemotionally. 'More often than not he was sporting a black eye at school, but he always told me he'd been in fights with boys from rival gangs. 'You should see the other guys,' he used to say.'
For the first time Danny smiled. 'He was a good kid. He took a hell of a lot of punishment till he got to fifteen and slammed a baseball bat into Dad's face. That's when Dad took off.' Another shrug. 'I don't remember him but everyone says he was a right bastard. He got in touch with one of my sisters a few years ago but nothing much came of it. He was only after money. Sally tried to persuade Alan to help him out, but he refused and we haven't
